This is ours
by C.Watherston
Summary: Merthur. That which is precious must be defended. Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N : Title is from the Tomorrow Series by John Marsden; "This was ours and this we would defend" **

**This may turn into a collection of pieces that troublesome plot bunny won't leave alone, so feedback would be appreciated. **

Their breathing, matched heartbeat for heartbeat, rushed over the silken curtains enclosing the four-poster bed. Their world, shut off in silk and the rush of ragged gasps over glistening, sweating skin, where nobody else could intrude. Where nobody else dared to venture.

His fingernails scraped the edges of his wounds from the day's trials and he hissed. His lover did not apologise out loud; instead he dragged his lips along his throat and gasped, raw and inviting, as they rose together, one animal, one beast of pleasure, to strike out for the stars. When the other man's fingers caught his blonde hair and tangled just a little too tightly, the shocks of heat across his scalp filled his throat as a throaty moan escaped.

The blonde pushed him back, tasting his lover's rushed shudders on his lips as he ran his fingers across the black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Bowing his head like a pious man at prayers, he bestowed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Merlin of Ealdor exhaled exaltedly at the touch of Arthur, Crown Prince of Camelot. It was almost a sigh as he let his fingertips take their fill of hot skin and hard muscle.

"_Mer-lin" _he hissed heatedly as he reached forward. Merlin's lips, swollen from his bruising kisses, pressed fervently to his throat. His voice rumbled through his mouth.

"_Arthur" _

Angled across him, with his black hair stark against the white pillows, Arthur caught his breath and swallowed at the beauty before. Beautiful was not a word he ever imagined using in regards to a man, especially a man with miles of boyishly long limbs and sparkling blue eyes. Drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, Merlin pressed his hand to Arthur's chest, where his heart boomed against his ribcage.

"_Mine" _he whispered.

Arthur covered his hand with his own and half-smiled in the semi-darkness. Silver moonlight bathed his naked shoulders, reflecting starlight and night, and coated his light eyes and hair in a swathe of grey shadow.

"Yours" he agreed, his voice hoarse with emotion and exertion. Merlin smiled triumphantly and ran his fingers over his back, across his ribs where the bruises dappled like dancing shadows, and caught his face. He kissed him; a long, slow, sweet, messy embrace that ignited flames across his belly and the very depths of their souls.

"Show me again" Arthur whispered as he lay beside him, Merlin's head cushioned on his shield arm, a pale hand resting on Arthur's hip. Merlin smiled and pulled him closer with that hand, dragging his fingertips down Arthur's stomach, across his abdomen, until it lay between them.

" _Forbearnan"_ he whispered huskily and their faces were bathed in the warmth of red-orange light of the little ball of fire in his hand. Arthur wasn't watching; he was looking at Merlin's face as the golden glow swirled like water, filling them like a flood, then flashed; igniting them.

"Beautiful" he whispered, and the other man blushed when he saw he wasn't looking at his hand. Carefully, as though he was glass, Merlin brushed the pad of his finger across the bridge of Arthur's Grecian nose, traced his lashes and cheekbones.

"The only man I know who blushes when he's laying naked in bed" Arthur told him softly, a smile on his face that nobody else ever saw. Merlin smiled and pressed his forehead to his.

"I'd better be" he teased lightly. Arthur kissed his nose, smirking. His eyelids were growing heavy. Merlin watched him begin to drift into the soft creamy realms of sleep and kissed both his eyes softly before untangling himself from the sheets. Arthur caught his wrist.

"Mer-rin?-" he muttered, his voice drowsy.

"-Stay?" his almost childlike plea broke Merlin's heart. He took Arthur's hand and kissed his fingertips in a way so gentle and sweet it was as if there were no scars or calluses from his sword and mace and shield and leather reins. Arthur forced his eyes open to see Merlin looking at him, torn.

"I sleep better when you're here" he muttered, embarrassed at this confession. Wrapped in shadows and secrets, the words tasted like freedom. One side of Merlin's mouth jerked.

"I sleep better when I'm here too" he admitted with a half-sigh. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with Arthur's hand in both of his. Arthur tugged his hand gently.

"Then stay" he pouted.

Merlin shook his head, smiling. He'd never admit it, but Arthur Pendragon's pout was one of his most endearing features.

"Arthur, you know I can't" he said instead.

"You have to be here in the morning anyway-" Arthur pushed himself up without releasing Merlin's hand and used their conjoined arms to lasso his lover's shoulders and pull him back against him. He kissed Merlin's temple.

"-You may as well wake up with me"

"And when somebody gets suspicious that I'm wearing the same clothes two days in a row?" he asked, laughing under his breath in that way of his, that way so uniquely _Merlin _it took Arthur's breath away.

"Oh, don't think so highly of yourself. You're a servant, nobody's going to notice"

Merlin wriggled until he was facing Arthur again. He studied his face, bathed in a slant of moonlight and shadowed by the gauzy bed coverings.

"Tell me something..."

"Oh dear" Arthur muttered jokingly. Merlin glared at him. The Crowned Prince of Camelot chuckled.

"Go on"

"Am I just a servant to you?" Merlin asked it slowly, surely. Arthur sat up quickly, a frown creasing his features.

"Dear God, Merlin, you're not serious?"

The smaller man swallowed and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Arthur, unable to find the words, stared at him. Neither of them could break the silence as it slammed over them like stone. Arthur pressed his face into his hands, sitting with one leg drawn up and the other draped off the bed. His toes brushed the cold stone floor below. Dragging his fingers down his face, Arthur looked again at his lover. His manservant. His brother-in-arms. His protector and guardian. Advisor. Friend too, damn him to Hell!

Lacing his digits together, he looked away and rested his linked hands against his heated lips, where he could still taste Merlin on his tongue.

Finally, Merlin shifted and made as if to leave. Arthur sprang across the bed and pinned him to the sheets; his body lay diagonal to Merlin, one hand fisted near his head and the other splayed on his waist, holding him. He glared fiercely into Merlin's cerulean orbs until he was sure the sorcerer wouldn't try to leave. Then he lifted his hand from his hip and pressed it, fingers splayed, to his chest. Beneath the calluses and scars of a man who was a soldier and a knight before he was a prince, Merlin's heart thumped, as steady as war drums.

Lightly now, as if tracing a path on ancient parchment, Arthur dragged his fingers across Merlin's chest and down his arm. There, across his wiry bicep, was a scar, faded now with time. Merlin shivered when Arthur pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the spot, shifting so he now lay almost entirely across him.

"Your first battle wound. Brought the roof down in that cavern. Saved my life" he muttered against the salty, sweet skin that held him captive better than any iron manacles.

His fingertips danced again.

"Wyvern. Bandit. Hag. Nimnueh. Warlock. Witch. Mercenary-" Arthur counted them off, each of these stories he'd dragged from an unwilling Merlin's lips. All the times his unassuming idiot had saved his life, all the notches that Camelot owed the man that it never saw. Finishing his list, Arthur looked Merlin seriously in the eyes.

"By way of blood, there are the lives of thousands of your people on my hands...there's...the blood of somebody you loved...on my hands-" Freya's story had been one hard told and even harder heard. Merlin looked as if he were about to protest when Arthur put two fingers to his lips and shook his head.

"-Yet you stopped me killing my father, who you hate. You have said things to me, to protect me, that must have killed you. You have put your life on the line more times than I will ever know of. If it were ever possible for somebody to be further from a servant to me, you'd be it"

Merlin's mouth stretched in that way that made gooseflesh ripple across Arthur's skin.

"Thank-you" he whispered.

Arthur kissed him, hard, raw, feelingly.

"I love you, you idiot" he said when they emerged, gasping.

"Dear God, yes" Merlin hissed and pulled Arthur close. Moments later they were blazing with fire, burning like nothing either of them had ever known. For a long moment, they stared at each other.

"Say it again...?" he whispered. Arthur leaned closer, as if sharing a secret.

"I love you"

Merlin grinned broadly.


	2. Chapter 2

It had started with a night out at the tavern. Most of the knights were there, the ale was flowing, Gawain had some poor serving girl, defenceless against his roguish charm and already half in love with him, convinced that it would be an incredibly good idea to leave the tavern with him that night.

The conversation had more or less deteriorated from there and Arthur, deeply hooded so he wouldn't be recognised and his father wouldn't hear that his son and heir was out drinking with the common folk, was nearly ready to leave anyway. Then they heard a sentry, just in from duty, talking about the physician's apprentice.

"-young Mer'n, tha prince's servant. Poor fellow, ev'rytim' I wen' past 'e was outside tha room, pacin' an' pacin' tha corridor. Was like listenin' to a bloody clock, mate. Just walkin' an' walkin' in 'is boots, too, by tha sounds 'o it. Makes ya wonder wha' 'e was thinkin' about..."

Arthur frowned at the back of the sentry's head and stood up. Gawain had been watching him ever since he'd realised what the guard was saying.

"That'll be you for the night then, princess?" he drawled knowingly. Arthur turned his frown on the knight as Leon and Percival, both far more than tispy, banged the table in disapproval. Gawain said something he didn't hear to Elyon, who tutted then laughed.

"What was that?" Arthur enquired dangerously, cocking an eyebrow at Gawain and leaning across the table to hear. Elyon shook his head. He was still a bit intimidated by Arthur at times. Gareth grinned. Gawain said;

"I tol' ya yer worse than a kept man nowadays, Arthur! Go make sure your man isn't planning anything stupid" he drawled, raising his flagon in a dismissive salute.

_Kept man. _

Just like that it, _it, _was out in the open.

Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, vanquisher of many foe, swordsman, warrior and leader, friend and master of one Merlin of Ealdor, was a kept man. A man who was lorded over by his wife or, in this case, secret lover.

He'd thrown it off, shaken it away, called Gawain out on labelling him such a despicable thing. He'd snuck into Merlin's quarters and forgotten about it. Dragging the lean, frowning manservant back to his bed, he'd curled up with his lover of almost four years and kissed his worries away.

When the next morning invaded Arthur's bedchambers, _their _bedchambers really, Merlin had roused the sleepy Prince with the reminder than he had to finish the latest report for his father's council.

"There's no need for you to get up. Go back to bed" Arthur ordered Merlin, who had the tell-tale bleariness and unsteadiness of someone to whom sleep was a luxury not a given. Gratefully, he kicked his boots back off and crawled under the thick goose feather covers.

Arthur had barely settled at his desk when a knock came up at the door. He cursed softly and looked at the adjoining door to his bedchamber. Really, he should shout to Merlin to get the door. He was the bloody manservant after all, and Arthur was the Prince...

It was Gwen standing on the doorstep, with an armload of new sheets.

"Oh, milord! Where's Merlin?"

"Asleep. I'll be damned if I know what's keeping that man up" he grumbled, taking the sheets from her. Being Gwen she blushed.

"Oh, well, it's that, I mean not that, and I-I mean-"

"I didn't mean it like that, Guinevere" Arthur drawled, smirking. She blushed again.

"I-I, uhm...well, I think it's awfully sweet of you, that's all..."

Arthur couldn't help but bristle. Prince's of Camelot were not _sweet! _For Heaven's sake...

Merlin was sweet. When he'd wink across the table at him during some boring feast or give him that secret smile when he was putting his armour on. When Arthur would stomp in ranting about the bureaucratic idiocy of his father's lords and Merlin would run his fingers through his hair, making everything better without saying a word.

He realised his mind had wandered and turned his attention sharply back to Gwen, who was grinning. He cocked his head quizzically at her as she took her leave.

"Oh Arthur, when did you become a kept man?" she giggled.

That night, he lay in bed, fully awake, waiting for Merlin to get back, and let the words roll around in his head. He thought about the others who he'd heard be called 'kept men' over the years. Lords whose eyes never strayed to the young and nubile serving girls, who would not speak of war and hunts in front of their ladies because the talk of death upset them, who would wave off the waiting servants to help their beloved down from their horse themselves. These were the lords who boasted of their wives achievements, to the consternation of others, and would hold her hand during jousts and pull out a chair for her at feasts.

Kept men. Men in love. The lines between them had since blurred for Arthur, who before would look at these men with distaste and humour. He'd almost sworn to himself he'd never let himself be one of those 'kept men' but...

_Fine _he felt himself silently agree as the door rattled and he heard Merlin's bouncing steps click into the room.

_So I'm a kept man. I'm totally, entirely, hopelessly and utterly kept. What's wrong with that? _

_You'll stop going on hunts. Merlin doesn't like it when you hunt anything larger than rabbits. _

_You'll stop competing in jousts. Merlin's fingernails get worn to the quick when he has to watch you compete. _

He had to snort at his own wayward imagination. Yeah, that would be the day.

His boots clacked against the stone as he arrived at the bed chamber door. He passed through a shard of moonlight; Arthur had time to glimpse the flash of pale skin and sinful dark hair before he was suddenly a shadow. A figure of darkness against the grey-black of their bedroom. Arthur didn't say a word as he toed off his boots and shed his shirt. The Prince suppressed a shiver at the luscious sounds of rough fabric slithering as the pants rushed off his skin. The massive bed barely registered Merlin's weight as he slid between the sheets. Arthur reached out and put his arms around Merlin, who curled into his side, kittenish.

"Hey" Merlin greeted him hoarsely, kissing his hair. He smelt like blood and sweat and something musky and sweet and wonderful that Arthur had always connected to Merlin, but could never quite understand the origins of.

"What happened?" Arthur demanded, not liking for a moment the smell of battle lingering on his lover's skin. He made a soft, wordless sound in reply and buried his face in his neck in a way that made it obvious that Arthur would get nothing more from the other man this night. Biting his tongue, his mind whirling with a thousand scenarios, each one worse than the previous, Arthur waited until Merlin's ragged breathing evened out before he kissed his temple and told him he loved him quietly against the delectable skin.


	3. Chapter 3

It had started with a night out at the local. The gang was all there, the ale was flowing, Gawain had some poor tourist, defenceless against his rouge Irish charm, that it would be an incredibly good idea to let he and Merlin do tequila body shots with her. Her eyes had bugged when he'd clapped Merlin on the shoulder and shouted that she didn't need to worry about him putting the moves on her because he was gay as a daisy.

The conversation had more or less deteriorated from there and Merlin was patting down his pockets looking for his smokes when he checked his phone out of pure habit and found a text from _Prince Prat The Terribly Handsom...(ICE) _

**Im cooking dinner where r u? **

Firstly, he knew his boyfriend of four years wasn't actually cooking dinner. He could no more cook dinner than Merlin could keep the house clean. What the text meant was that the blonde-haired detective was ordering in Merlin's favourite, sacrificing fish and chips for Thai or Vietnamese. Merlin smiled and stood up.

"Right, chaps, I'm done. I'll see you when I'm lookin' at ya" he said, plucking his coat from the back of his chair and kissing Gwen on the cheek. Leon and Percival, both far more than tispy, banged the table in disapproval. Gawain said something to Elyon and Gareth, who tutted and laughed respectfully.

"What was that?" Merlin enquired, cocking an eyebrow at Gawain and leaning across the table to hear. Lance, who'd overheard, shook his head. Gareth grinned. Gawain said;

"I tol' ya to git on home before yer ol' lady makes ye sleep on the couch, ya poor, whipped fucker" he drawled, raising his flagon.

_Whipped. _

Just like that, the word, _the _word, was out in the open.

Merlin Emrys Ambrosias, paramedic and avid magician, was whipped.

He'd thrown it off, shaken it away, called Gawain out for labelling him such a despicable thing. He'd gone home that night and forgotten about it. He'd curled up on their too-small couch with Arthur, eaten Vietnamese and watched crappy TV.

The next morning, a Saturday, Arthur was going into work for a few hours to finish off some paperwork and Merlin was meant to be sleeping because he had night shift. Someone had knocked on the door just as Merlin was drifting off.

"Can you get that love?" Arthur had called out from the bathroom, where he was in the middle of shaving his invisible blonde stubble. With a sigh, Merlin had gotten out of bed and unquestionably gone to the door to find the sexy, dark-haired, downright dangerous organised crime copper, Morgana le Fey, impatiently tapping her toes.

"Aren't you on nights?" she'd snapped when he'd opened the door, bleary-eyed and in his pyjamas.

"Yes. Don't you have anything better to do with your time than hang around outside our door?" he'd returned sharply. He and Morgana had been friends once, awhile ago, but Arthur's father had been murdered by the Druid gang and everyone knew that she'd had something to do with it. She'd been undercover with the Druid's and been compromised. Everyone knew it, but because there was no proof, she was still walking around free and holding a badge.

"I need Pendragon's report. Which he probably hasn't finished. Therefore, I'm going to stand over his spoilt, pansy self until such time as I have that report in my hand. Why are you answering the door if you're on nights?"

Her words flowed smoothly into one another and his reply was equally as smooth.

"Arthur's in the shower, I answered the door. It's called being polite. Maybe you should try it sometime"

"It's called being _whipped_" she sneered. Before Merlin had a chance to scorch her with some epic comeback, Arthur appeared at his elbow, smelling clean and crisp and mouth-watering.

"Le Fey" he greeted the woman on his doorstep icily.

"Pendragon. Where's my report?" she returned, even more coldly. Morgana le Fey had 'icy' down to an art form. A terrifying one. Arthur sighed and rolled his head to look at Merlin.

"It's going to be a long day" he informed him dully and kissed his lips. Merlin curled his fingers against Arthur's collar, their lips lingering longer than an acceptable goodbye kiss.

"I'll see you tomorrow, love" Arthur told him as they parted, ignoring Morgana's gagging noises. With that he followed the swishing black mane of the other detective through their rusty front gate.

"If you get a chance, I'll help you hide the body" Merlin called out after him. Arthur raised a hand in acknowledgement and climbed into Morgana's car.

_Whipped. _

_Whipped. _

_Whipped. _

_Fine _he felt himself silently agree as the door rattled and he heard Arthur's keys clatter into the bowl that Gwen had made them during a brief flirtation with clay potting.

_So I'm completely whipped. I'm totally, entirely, hopelessly and utterly whipped. What's wrong with that? _

_You'll start skipping out on pool nights. _

_You'll give up smoking. _

_You'll sell your car so you can buy a goddamn station wagon to cart snotty little brats around. _

He had to snort at his own wayward imagination. Yeah, that would be the day.

His dress shoes clacked against the tiles as he arrived at the door. A crack of light appeared and then disappeared as he slid into the room. He had time to glimpse the flash of pale skin and long, long legs in black business pants and the colour of his tie (blue), before he was suddenly a shadow. A figure of darkness against the grey-black of their bedroom. Arthur didn't say a word as he toed off his shoes and shed his shirt. Merlin suppressed a shiver at the luscious sound of his flying zip and the slither of fine fabric as the pants rushed off his skin. The drawer groaned. The old bed hissed in protest as he slid between the sheets and put his arms around Merlin, who curled into his side, kittenish.

"Hey" Arthur greeted him hoarsely, kissing his hair. He smelt like blood and sweat and gunpowder. Merlin didn't mind it, but he knew it gave the other man nightmares. It was why he didn't mind his smoking; the reek of stale cigarettes burned out all other smells. Plus, Merlin had once told him the story of his first boyfriend, in high school when they'd sneak smokes from his dad's packs and they'd sit around during class, smoking and making out. For some reason, the image of the gothic, rebellious Merlin Ambrosias that had been shoved into a locked box long ago appealed greatly to Arthur Pendragon.

He made a soft, wordless sound in reply and buried his face in his neck. Tough night then, to skip the shower and come straight to bed. Merlin waited until his breathing evened out before he kissed his temple and told him he loved him quietly against the delectable skin.


	4. Chapter 4

"Kiss me" he said.

Arthur raised a regal eyebrow in that way that only Arthur Pendragon could.

"Is that an order?" he growled, low and rough and delicious as he stepped closer and pushed his ever-insolent manservant back against the wall, his hands locked on his wrists. Merlin broke free and crawled his fingers up to tangle in the laces of Arthur's jerkin. His blue eyes shone with mischief and semi-hysterical panic.

"Yes" he breathed with the last air in his lungs. Arthur caught the hand against his chest and slanted his mouth over his lovers, drinking in the sensation with greed and lust and everything that made his blood sing like nobody else ever could.


End file.
